


The Tortoise and The Hare

by graziezita



Category: Original Work
Genre: Barchelor Party, F/M, F/M Relationship to M/M Relationship, Hares, M/M, Male Slash, POV Male Character, Running Away, Stripper, Wedding, strip club, tortoises
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:38:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5150528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graziezita/pseuds/graziezita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Bennet was given a very strange advice: if you see a turtle on the day of your wedding, it'll bring good luck to the recent spouses. Is the night before his wedding, and he hasn't found a turtle yet. Good thing he isn't really planning on getting on with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tortoise and The Hare

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my favourite stories I've written. Pardon for any grammar errors :)

 

 

**CHAPTER ONE - BOTTOMS UP**

 

They told me seeing a turtle on the day of the wedding would bring good luck to the recent spouses, a stupid, but unpredictable challenge. At least, it was better than hearing John babbling about how big and great the second bridesmaid’s boobs were. The strip club we decided to go to the night before my wedding was crowded. Stuart mentioned that this specific strip club had the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen -- which made me wonder what goddess that girl might be, considering the fact that Stuart is and always has been quite the manwhore. As a tradition, I was dragged to the great ‘Bottoms Up’ gentleman’s club, at an unsuccessful attempt of making me horny enough to pay for some topless chick to give me a lap dance.

My wedding was on the next afternoon, how am I going to find a turtle in the middle of the ‘Madsen’s Weddings and Parties’ mansion? If we had chosen the zoo wedding I had suggested, we would probably end up luckier.

The next girl on stage made everyone, including Stuart, scream their lungs off, which made me look at the poorly lighted stage. God, how much money does a stripper make? All I could think about was all of those fifty’s being thrown at the poorly dressed girl. I was about to bet that, if I could grow a good six-pack, in one month at a stripper job, I’d get enough money to pay my whole wedding. The girl’s name was Andressa, and she was wearing what it looked like bullfighter themed lingerie. She’d take the fifty’s and stuff her gold and red bra. Damn, so much money.

“Enjoying the view?” Stuart asked me, a perverted splitting-ear grin on his face. “Sure.” I answered, taking my phone off my pocket to check on the wedding plans. “Dude...” Stuart took the phone off my hands, looking at the screen for a split second before blocking, silencing, and giving it back to me. “No wedding stuff tonight, bro!” He took one of his hands from the glass of scotch to pat me strongly on the back, the grin back on his face. “We’re here to celebrate! Y’know?” He pointed at the girl dancing on the stage. “Tomorrow you’ll be a prisoner of the old ball and chain, if you know what I mean.” He laughed. “C’mon Michael! Look at the naked chick!” He placed both of his hands on the sides of my face, almost dropping the gold plastic crown I was wearing, and turning my head to the stage.

Sure she was hot. All strippers are hot. It’s like some black magic or something, I’m not sure if it’s the power of the uncovered boobs, or the abilities on the pole, but yeah, sure, hot. “Leave the guy alone.” Robert said, making the both of us look at him. He was wearing quite the outrageous tie, and his cheeks were dirty with _body glitter_. He was sipping on what looked like some every expensive beer, like always, being the posh little daddy’s boy. “He’s getting married tomorrow!” He laughed. Taking another sip from his beer. “Plus, he never had a thing for Latinas.” He looked at me, winking and then he stood up, suddenly, whistling with one of his hands. I gazed at the stage again, seeing that the girl had taken her over-decorated bra off. I sighed, and stood up from my chair, heading towards the bar. “I’m going to grab another drink!” I yelled over the screams of the crowd, my friends completely ignoring me.

Everything in that place made me shiver. The money on every possible surface, the red-everything, and even the low lights, that just made the place even scarier.

I sat on the plastic purple benches at the bar, looking at my bottle the hole time. God I hate strip clubs. Finally, I look up to the bartender -- the only male I have sure it works here, and ask him for a cup of gin. “Rough night?” He asks, drying up a cup with a towel. “I take from the crown that you’re getting _lucky_ tomorrow.” He laughed a little this time, sarcastic. “Yeah...” I say, couldn’t help but notice how my voice sounded squeaky. “Doesn’t sound like you’re happy with it.”

I wasn’t.

Anything seemed to be in place. But, if I were to tell my friends, they’d say I’m only scared, and that I should just enjoy the last night I have as an available man. Available? First of all, I’m engaged, that’s a long way from available.

But what bugged me right now was the fact that I’m only 25. Who gets married at such a young age? All my friends – at first – doubted my commitment with such thing. I had so much more to live, experience, and make from my life! And frankly, I wanted to.

Elaine and I met at 18. We both were applying to the same college, and even though we lived far away from each other, everything seemed to be destiny. We liked the same things, were looking for the same course, and probably would end up in the same party in the end of the day – which happened. It all went real fast. She lived three hours away from me, and, as we grew closer, I went to visit her almost every weekend. Finally, when the college responses came in, Elaine was sad to tell me she wasn’t going to UM, and that we ‘needed to talk’. She got accepted at this great school in Ireland – her dream university. We talked the whole night about it. She said she didn’t wanted to break up, and that she loved me way too much to lose me. I said she needed to accept it, and that we could work it out. Our long-distance dating scheme went on for the next four years. She came back, and I proposed. Long story short: I should have left Elaine when everything got complicated.

 “I was thinking...” I said, making the bartender look at me, he had a huge grin on his face and was drying up some shot cups. “I had so many things to do before I’d decide to get married... I gave everything up.” The bartender smiled at that. I’m pretty sure I frowned. “Everyone thinks that, y’know? Is completely normal! Everyone struggles with their sexuality right before the big day-” My eyes widened at that. I laughed a little, making the bartender stop talking. He looked at me like I just spoke another language. People tend to think I’m gay, what signals am I giving to the world? “I’m not gay.” I say, briefly. My voice sounds a little frisky, like I’m lying. The bartender nods and continues to clean some glasses. “I was almost sure you were, though.”

I think is funny. I wouldn’t matter being gay at all, to be honest. Guys would be easier to handle for sure. No big weddings, no drama. My grandmother thinks I’m gay to the core. Here’s the thing, my grandma is very _modern,_ which means she reads a lot of crap in the internet, and decided she completely supports ‘me and my choice’ because she loves me. And I keep telling her I’m engaged with a girl, and no, I’m not gay. But who wants to make a their grandma unhappy?

I looked at my phone, Elaine was texting me. Since we started dating we had this thing in which we’d always text each other at midnight in Greenwich time.  When Elaine got accepted at this great school in Ireland, we were in the airport, and heading towards different cities. I was proud of our long-distance relationship, it with a lot of breakups and comebacks, and everything seemed... fine.

Right now, I wasn’t very sure I wanted to answer her text.

“How come?” I asked the bartender, ignoring her text completely. “Well – uh, you have the vibes, to be honest.” He said, giving another man a whisky – he was the type of man who probably was a regular: baggy jeans, plaid shirt, a fury coat and a cap. Those kinds of people give me the chills.  “Really?” He nodded as I took a sip of my gin and looked around, to see my friends having some fun with Andressa, who, surprisingly, was still at the stage. They were all together at one big, round table. It was full of empty glasses and dollar bills, and, of course, a lot of sex manuals and shit they ‘provided me’ for my wedding night.

“I’m sure you’ve dealt with more than one groom-to-be with issues.” I said, regretting it shortly after. Of course he had. This is a _strip club._ “No, not really.” He answered, to my full surprise. “I’m quite new here, it’s only a second job. My actual job is at a gay bar.”

That did it. I started laughing, for the first time in the night.

“Gay bar? Really?”

“Yeah, is a very nice space to work? You’d like it.” He winked, a perverted grin planted on his pretty face.

“I’ve always wanted to go to a gay bar, just see what it’s like.” I blurted out. So it really is a thing, huh, making the bartender your psychologist. He smiled, buffing his chest. Like making part of one of the thousand gay bars in Manchester was impressing. “My shift ends in half an hour. Wanna take something off that bucket list?” He placed the dishtowel over his shoulder, and bringing his torso over the bar, a few inches from my bored face.

“Are you suggesting I bail on my friends who made this, by the way, completely boring Bachelor party, and go with the bartender I just met, to a gay bar?” The bartender smiled, taking the towel back and beginning to clean the bar. “I’m in.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
